


The Riddle Problem

by CescaLR



Series: Ginny Weasley, Veteran of War, Time Traveller, Defeater of Dark Lords, and Dark, but Good. [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, 1950s, 1990s, 2000s, F/M, Family, Gangs, Gen, Merope's Love Potioning Of Tom Basically, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, POV Ginny Weasley, Past Rape/Non-con, Post WW2, Post-War, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Recovery, Riddle House (Harry Potter), The Burrow (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: "Ginny Weasley," Irene looks over her. Ginny's on her doorstep, umbrella in hand. The rain is falling heavily, and Irene smiles. "What a lovely surprise. Please, come in. We were just about to have dinner."------Somewhat of an epilogue.Dropped plot thread with the Riddles. Context from 'The Want Of Gold To Stay' required.





	The Riddle Problem

**Author's Note:**

> I hate dropped plot threads, so here this is. Contains both 1981!Ginny and AU!Ginny. And all the Toms. Some closure, and some 1990s and early 2000s Ginny and friends. I hope you enjoy.

Ginny surveys the battlefield. Grindlewald - dead, dropped like a puppet cut from it's strings. He's on the floor in a heap, as human as anyone else - as mortal. More mortal than Ginny, it seems, but she doesn't dwell on that.

"Expecto Patronum," She says. Your patronus changes based on love - or based on self; your view of yourself, or an inherant change of nature, she's not certain, but her patronus is different, now. In this world.

It helps, she thinks. When little Ginny comes into this earth, people won't be - suspicious. Or as suspicious as if their patronus...es? Patronai? well... whatever, were the same. 

"Grindlewald is dead," She tells it. "Come to the field for proof. We have wounded."

* * *

Albus wakes slowly. She stands a respectful distance away, and waits.

"Ginevra," He says. "Miss Weasley. Is he..."

"Dead." She finishes - changes his question to a statement.

"I see." He says, sharply. Dissapproving, she thinks. Hypocrite. Understandable. But -

No. No, it's not all that hypocritical.

"I'm sorry." She says. "I didn't have a choice."

It's better a fate, she thinks, silently, than being locked away with no visitors until he wastes away, decades upon decades and the turn of the millenium later. 

It's merciful. Comparitively.

"You did," He denies. Albus looks at the wand she's holding, and she presents it to him, clearly. He takes it, gingerly, and turns it over. Looks at it from all angles.

"The legends are true," She says. "About the Hallows."

He looks at her sharply. "I can tell you," She offers. "Where they are."

"... no," He replies, after some time examining the wand. "Don't."

She nods. He hands her the wand back, and she takes it. Ginny puts it in the holster on her arm. Her old wand is hostered on her waist, under her top. Just in case.

"How long?" She asks.

"A while," He replies, understanding what she's asking. "Decades, perhaps."

 _I loved him,_ his eyes say.

"I know," She replies. "I'm sorry."

Ginny leaves. She won't see Albus for a while - but that's another story entirely.

* * *

Ginny stands in Little Hangleton, and looks up at the manor. The Riddles do sincerely live in splendor, in a manor atop a hill, looking down at the commoners, the pesents, the average man and woman in a small town in England. She sighs, because she knows she was probably closer to the Gaunts in wealth and has no idea about how to do - anything, when it comes to 'high society', or whatever the fuck. Ginny doesn't know how rich people live and she _certainly_ doesn't know how rich muggles lived in the 1940s, after the second world war, and now...

She's going to find out. It had been... a long time ago, that she'd seen the Riddles. Before she'd saved Graves, before she'd met the Goldsteins, before she'd helped save the Wizarding World alongsdie Albus Dumbledore and before she'd, in doing so, lost their friendship.

Before she'd healed, some. And now, here... she can relax. The wizards don't get involved in the muggle wars after this one - even the ones that followed Grindlewald because they truly beileved he wanted to prevent the muggle war and the atomic bombs and all the deaths, the ones that didn't know Abernathy was a plant and the ones that didn't ever see him murder innocents, _babies_ (that weren't little Tom Riddle the Thirds), they knew now that wizard involvement didn't help.

It hindered.

(Not always true, of course... but war. It skews things. It makes even the best of intentions into bad ideas.)

Ginny twirls her umbrella in her hand. She's in muggle England, and Jacob and Queenie are back in London (their favoured city), and she could go stay with them - _"You're always welcome, honey," Queenie smiled. "Yeah, Angel." Jacob beamed. "You saved our hides. We can't thank you enough." -_ but...

Ginny's tired. Even if it's selfish, foolish, ridiculous - she wants to _hide._ The wizarding world want her more than they ever wanted Harry; they want her for Supreme Mugwump, she's been offered Hogwarts on a silver platter, she's been offered money and houses and the Minister's position and Ginny wants _none_ of it, except the money.

You never turn down money. Ginny has learned this; it's not easy to get ahold of. You take it where you can get it.

So. She took the money offered and ran, used spells Queenie taught her to fit in with the muggle world - hair, makeup, dress sense - and apparated into an alleyway in Little Hangleton. She wandered around, for a bit - and she's going to have to deal with the Gaunts, at one point or another, but that's not today - then stopped in front of the Riddle Manor.

Ginny sighs, stops spinning her umbrella, and starts the walk up to the front door. The driveway winds up the hill, around rocks and through grass mounds, and she takes her time with it. It's a nice walk, and the rain is soothing, if heavy, and it's - nice. To just... walk. Without having to look over her shoulder and think about whether or not a Death Eater or a Grindlewald Supporter or Sympathiser is going to hit her with an _avada kedavra._

It takes about five minutes to get up the driveway, and then she knocks on the door.

"Ginny Weasley," Irene looks over her. Ginny's on her doorstep, umbrella in hand. The rain is falling heavily, and Irene smiles. "What a lovely surprise. Please, come in. We were just about to have dinner."

Ginny follows the woman. She looks decades older than what Ginny remembers, and she thinks, _muggles age quickly._

They die quick, too.

The woman, now grey-haired and with wrinkled skin, looks decent for her age, but out of touch; her dress sense hasn't changed, Ginny can tell, and her clothes look a little worn.

War causes hard times. Ginny looks around the house, and it's - lovely, but old. There's dust on the hallway table.

"It's a shame," Irene sighs. She's a little old woman, now, and she moves like it; slow, careful movements. Ginny offers her arm, and Irene smiles, thankfully. "Thank you. But - it's a shame. We had to fire many of the staff... the war took a toll on our funds, and then our Harold's _buisness_ all but collapsed... but you aren't here for that." Irene shakes her head.

Harold. Ginny remembers the man Tommy was with, and nods to herself.

Gang Leader, she thinks. It's likely enough; he was rich, but he wasn't posh - and he hadn't earned that money through legal means, she thinks, because... well, she'd just - she'd known a lot of terrible people, in her life. One had been in her _head._ She knew when people had done bad things, and it had been written all over him.

_Danger. Danger. Stay away._

He'd _sounded_ normal. Abbrasive, but a good sort. Looks and sounds can be decieving, and Ginny trusts her gut.

Looks like she'd been right to.

"Thomas, dear," Irene calls out, somewhat feble but lout in the echoey, old house. "We have a guest for dinner."

"Ginny Weasley," The old man smiled, hair a darker shade of grey than his wife's, his face and skin aged with more wrinkles. "You don't look a day older than I remember. How have you been? Did your buisness go well?"

"Better than well," She smiled. "I'm a hero, looks like."

"Good, good." He nodded, absently. "Come. We have more than enough food - a fifth place won't be difficult," He turned around. "Fifth?" Ginny asks.

"Our Tom married," Irene smiled, happy. It was soft and relieved, too - and Ginny felt similar. She didn't know much about Tom, really, but... she knew what he'd gone through.

He's - healed, as much as can be expected. It's been - nearly two decades. He's healed. He's moved on, he's married.

"He had a son," She added, smiling. "Little Thomas Riddle the Third. They're expecting a baby, soon - I do hope it's a girl," She sighed, happily. "This Manor's too big for just five people." Irene continued.

"That's good," Ginny smiled. "I'm glad things have gone well."

Irene's smile dimmed. "For the most part," She confessed. "It was... difficult, in the beginning. Thomas was - not... sympathetic."

"No," Ginny murmered. "No, I don't suppose he was, was he?"

She remembered.

_"Youthful stupidity," He said, with scorn._

Irene led Ginny into the dining room. It had a long table that could comfortably sit most of Ginny's family, probably, if you squeezed in twice the chairs, and half of it was piled high with various food. It's probably a waste, given the war and all, and resources were probably slim in the muggle world - but, also, she thinks, the war is _over._ They're just trying to... get back to normal, again.

Merlin. A war, then some peace, then Merope, and Tom's trauma, and his recovery, and a war as he marries and has children...

The Riddles had a difficult time of it, she thinks.

"Sit, sit," A woman she doesn't recognise says. There's a boy, no more than five, in the chair next to her.

That would be Thomas Riddle the Third. Ginny smiles at him. He blinks back.

"Hello, kiddo," She says, as she sits where Irene guides her. Opposite Ginny is Voldemort's father, in another timeline - a man that would, she thinks, be dead either very soon or by now. Ginny never got the full run-down.

Just the basics. Just, really, Merope.

"Hello," Thomas replies. Tommy, Tom, Thomas. She sighs, and reverses the order.

"Hey, Tommy," She smiles. "I'm Ginny. I helped your family out a while ago. It's nice to meet you."

Tommy offers her a smile, the kind that clueless kids that don't know about murder or pain give. She's not sure how they kept him innocent, being born during a war, and all, but she supposes it was no harder than how her own parents dealt with the younger half of their seven children, excluding Ginny.

They were just too young to remember, she thinks. This kid probably doesn't, either.

"So," Ginny says, putting food on her plate. "I was wondering -"

"You may stay as long as you wish," Elizabeth says. Thomas nods, and Irene smiles some more. Tom looks at Ginny - a little wary, still, Ginny thinks, of strange women who are capable of strange things - but nods, like his father.

Ginny smiles at them. "Thank you," She says. "I'll take you up on that offer."

* * *

It's funny, but maybe Tom was always destined to have a powerful kid, no matter the mother.

Ginny crouches down in front of Tommy. "Hey, kiddo," She says. Tommy looks at her, and grins.

"Look!" He says, pointing. Ginny smiles. He'd made his toys float - not an uncommon thing - but he had a larger amount of control than would suggest accidental magic.

Ginny is not wary. She refuses to be. She wouldn't watch this kid like he's Voldemort, because he isn't. Voldemort _died_ , **years** **ago** , on a cold december evening, before he was even born.

"Look at this," She says, winking, and pulls out the elder wand, then casts rapid-fire colour changing charms. Tommy looks on, as his toys change - red, purple, orange, blue, green, yellow - and laughs.

Elizabeth walks in, and Ginny stands. Tommy goes back to playing with his toys, floating them around and directing them to - do stuff, she doesn't know what, but he's laughing and smiling and he's just a kid.

"Liz," Ginny says, quietly. "Betty. There's something I've got to tell you, but - I'm not sure how good an idea it would be to tell Tom."

"It's witchcraft," Elizabeth says, face pale. "I know what it did to my husband. I can't have this in _our house-"_

"Elizabeth," Ginny says, sharply. "He's your _child."_

Elizabeth takes a shaky breath. She places a hand on her stomach, only slightly round, and sighs.

"He is," She says, then repeats herself, firmer. "He is. He's my son."

She closes her eyes, and sighs.

"It's it destiny?" She asks. "Fate? Is Tom to have a child - like _her?_ A witch?"

"Tommy's magic," Ginny said. "I don't know about your other child, whichever it may be; a witch, a wizard, a muggle. I don't know."

"There's no way to tell?" She asks.

"There is," Ginny admits, "At least sex not - not magic, that can't be divined. But... sex, I can do."

"Go on then." Elizabeth says, straightening her posture, putting back her shoulders, lifting her chin. "Do your witchcraft. Tell me."

Ginny nods. "Lie down," She advised, and Elizabeth moved to the couch. She lay down on the ornate piece of furniture, and Ginny slowly, carefully, demonstratively, cast a few diagnostic spells over Elizabeth's form.

"A girl," Ginny says, quietly. She might be a witch, she might not. Either way...

Elizabeth sighed, then smiled, tentatively. "Ginevra's a good name," She said. "For the middle. Or the first? Rebecca Ginevra Riddle. Ginevra Mary Riddle... We'll think about it." Elizabeth finished, decisively. "Please. Would you... teach my son? Control? I don't... it would be best to... introduce Tom to this in - gradual steps. It's kinder."

She sits up, and brushes out the creases in her skirt. "Please?" She asks, and Ginny can't say no.

* * *

Of course, the Riddles worked with _Gangs._

Harold Johanson, leader of a gang in Bristol. They had ties with gangs _everywhere;_ Birmingham, London... et cetera, et cetera. Ginny learned quickly that she was safer, here, than in the wizarding world - but that didn't mean _safe._ Especially without the ability to reliably use magic. 

If she _did_ use it, however, she had to be... discrete.

" _Confundus,"_ She said, quietly. She then walked over and grabbed his gun, and walked quickly past, down the street. Johnathan Pool was another gang leader - and he'd been on his way to the Riddle House (it was a manor, but that was not it's name - she'd been mistaken) and Ginny couldn't let him go there armed.

Ginny apparated into her bedroom. She dismantled the gun with precision, then put the parts in the bottom drawer of her bedside table, then left the room.

"You're back," Tom said. "How did... _it..._ go?"

"He's unarmed," She told him. Tom - was not unaware of magic. How could he be? Merope hadn't been discrete, really, especially when he was under the affects of the amortencia.

He didn't quite trust her. But the years in between and the recovery made - and her hand in it; her removal of Merope from the world, and thus Tom's life... it helped. He didn't hate her, didn't despise her, didn't ask her to leave.

She would have gone, if he did. But he hadn't.

"Good," Tom said. He had a pistol of his own - decent but inexpensive. Somewhat small, and certainly not recently used. It had gathered dust, she thought, for a few years. While the war was on, it was easier for gangs - and Tom and his family had it easier than most. The tensions of a full country and a focused police force made their situation even more dangerous than during or prior to the war - because in the aftermath of war, everything was heightened.

Ginny did her best, to help, to right wrongs when she saw them. But there were things too big for Ginny to do alone, and as non-existant in the muggle world as she was. The Riddles were powerful in their own right, but vehemently non-political; they couldn't be seen as more than mere aristocrats living on inherited money, investments, and the family company.

(Whatever that was. Ginny still hadn't gotten a straight answer.)

"Please don't," Ginny said. She'd seen enough bloodshed. Tom grimaced, and inclined his head. "I'd rather not," He admitted. "But..."

If push comes to shove, she thinks.

"Please don't," Ginny repeats. "I will."

"Not with that stick of yours, I hope," He said, sharply.

"No," She agreed. Ginny held her hand out, and he hesitated, but Tom wasn't - he wasn't one for much violence, really. He'd been too young for the first war and 'unfit' for the second. He wasn't much of a fighter, had never really gotten involved with the Gangs as much as his father and mother had in their youth.

"Thank you," Ginny said. It was better her than him, because at least she already had blood on her hands. And Ginny didn't mind killing bad people, not when it was necessary. Not when it helped the people she loved, or cared about, or might as well protect because, damn it all, but she's _invested_.

And the Riddles? Yeah. Ginny Weasley is _very_ invested in how Thomas Riddle turns out - in all of his forms. And how his descendants turn out - in all of theirs.

* * *

 

It goes well. No death. Ginny puts the gun in her drawer of dismantled parts and promises herself she'll practice shooting it.

She does. But she doesn't.

Ginny practices against targets, hunts food and for sport. She's generally the only woman in the group, and that's just... a thing. Elizabeth came once, no longer pregnant, while Irene and the nanny looked after the children. She didn't come again, and didn't eat pheasant for a week.

Ginny shot a bird and ate it, same day. She'd been raised on a farm - this wasn't new to her. Money made buying food hard, so they grew it instead. Raised chickens and grew vegtables and had very small plots of wheat, and another small area for sheep. They had two cows, and that gave them milk and cheese.

It worked.

So Ginny hunted. She hunted well, and maybe it made a coulple of the muggles miffed, maybe it impressed them, maybe she didn't give a shit. It was practice.

She does practice shooting. But she doesn't, because she never needs to practice shooting a human-shaped target. The gangs don't last much longer - oh, they still exist, but not in the same form. Harold dies. They go to his funeral. Johnathan dies - Thomas spits on his grave.

Life goes on.

* * *

Thomas' funeral happens in 48', Irene in 49'. Tommy turns 11 on May the 10th, 1951. Vera is 5, on August the 20th. 

Tommy goes to Hogwarts. Vera hasn't shown any signs of magic - but Ginny has doubts that she won't.

Things don't work out like that, for the Riddles. That easy. Just one magical person in the family. That would be too simple. It would make Tom feel better, and the world doesn't like _that._

* * *

_But really, Tom made his peace with it.  
_

And that's true. Tom had. Ginny watches him sit on the couch with his wife, his daughter across their laps, and Tommy demonstrating his magic. Ginny lives here, so it's a magical residence, and the wards hide Tommy from the ministry. He casts spells and does better without his wand and smiles.

Ginny thinks Tom Riddle was always supposed to be important. Ginny thinks this one will be better than the other option.

She has to. She can't have failed. She _can't_ have brought him up _wrong._

* * *

Ginny moves out, eventually. She has a life of her own to lead, and she misses her world. Her friends, her family. 

It's the 1950s. Her dad should be born soon, and she should be there. His eldest sibling and his daughter - don't think about it - shouldn't miss him being brought into the world.

"But - Auntie," Vera whines.

"Aunt Ginny, please," Tommy says. "Just tell us _why_ you're leaving, at least!"

Ginny smiles, and crouches down. Tommy scowls at her - little runt that he is - and Vera smiles, hesitantly.

"I have family that I need to talk to," She says. "Friends that I miss. It's been a while - about a decade, and... I really need to see them," Ginny sighs, wistful.

She misses Queenie, she misses Graves, she misses Seraphina and Tina and Jacob and Leta and Newt and Theseus and -

"Okay, alright," Tommy shakes his head. "Don't look at me like _that._ I get it."

She smiles at him, and then pulls her honorary niece and nephew into a hug. Tommy groans in fake pre-teen complaint and Vera grins, happily, as she holds on tight.

"Ginevra Mary Riddle," Ginny bops her on the nose. "You do good, okay? Pay attention to your studies, and owl me if you do any magic, and owl me if you dont! I want updates." She turns to Tommy, but at the face he makes doesn't tap his nose. "And you, mister, I want _letters._ You need to practice your quill and ink writing, it's terrible."

"Why can't i use a typewriter?" He scowls. Ginny grins. "Go on then," She says, "They're just mechanical, can't see why they won't work at Hogwarts. But, please, your teachers won't accept essays not written with a quill, so practice."

"That's _dumb,"_ Tommy said. She smiled at him. "So change it," She said. "Dumb things shouldn't stay that way. But we're getting ahead of ourselves."

She pulls them into another hug. "Write me, you hear?" She asks. "I want to know everything."

"Okay, Auntie," Vera says. "We will," Tommy promises.

* * *

Ginny gets many letters from Vera and Tommy. Vera shows magic at seven, and that's the longest letter she ever sends, until she's eleven. Tommy rants about various things and doesn't seem to understand how letter-based communication works, which is funny, but it's cute. He's a good kid.

Ginny did right by him.

She showed up at her father's birth on-time, and Septimus and Cedrella smiled at her as if they hadn't not seen her for over two decades. "Right on-time," Septimus said. Cedrella smiled at Ginny, and Ginny smiled back. It didn't take too long to settle in at the Weasleys, and it didn't take too long to reintergrate with the Wizards, but she refused to stoop to dressing like it was the late 18th century with a robes-based twist. She wore her very best muggle clothing, tailored to work better for a witch, and she strode down diagon alley to open up her own personal bank account. Upon leaving Gringotts, she was mobbed by reporters, but she made it through and made it home. Things like that continued, whenver she left Ottery, and found herself in places with a high concentration of wizards and witches among the populace. 

Still. She wasn't offered the Minister's position and she wasn't offered Supreme Mugwump. Good. She could do her own thing, and her own thing was -

Sure. Why not. She looked at the shelves, at the books with her visage or her name or her anything on them, and nodded to herself.

She'd write her _own_ history, thank you very much.

* * *

"Oh, honey," Queenie smiled at her, and Ginny grinned back. They hugged, and then Jacob entered the hallway, and they hugged, too. 

It had been so long. Ginny was happy, as happy as anyone could be.

She was home.

* * *

"Ginevra Weasley!" Professor McGonagall called out, reading from the scroll. Ginny swallowed, but she glanced at the Gryffindor table and saw the thumbs up Ron gave her, the smile Harry sent her way, the winks her troublemaking older brothers, Fred and George, sent her simultaneously, and the proud nod Percy aimed at her. Ginny nodded, steeled her nerves, and stalked up to the stool. 

She sat, and Professor McGonagall put the hat on her head.

_Well, this isn't difficult. Once sorted, always sorted. A person's house doesn't change, Miss Weasley. It's as permanent as your history._

"Gryffindor!" The hat yelled out. Ginny grinned, jumped off the stool and handed back the hat, then ran over to her brother Ron and his best friend. Harry high-fived her, and Ron grinned back at the one she aimed at him. 

"Won the bet, then!" Harry shouted, cheerfully, to be heard over the noise. Ginny, just as cheerfully, smacked him on the arm. "Riddle doesn't know what he's on about!" She yelled back. "I know what I am. I'm Gryffindor, through and through!"

"That's the spirit," Lee, Fred and George's friend, grinned at her. "Welcome to the club."

"Very much so," Rian winked. Ginny shook her head at her cousin - Fabian's son - and laughed, pleased.

* * *

Percy and the first years wandered off, but Ginny waved at Colin before turning around and walking over to her brother and his friends. "Hey, Riddle," She grinned at Tom. "Weasley," He replied. "Dear cousin. I guess I was wrong."

"Damn right you were," Ron grinned, cuffed him on the shoulder. "Bloody hell, what were you thinking?"

Riddle smiled and shrugged. "Who knows?" He asked, rhetorically. "Maybe I just didn't want idiots in my house."

"Aww," Ginny cooed. "Is Riddle lonely?"

"Yes, if you must know," He rolled his eyes. "I share a dorm with _Malfoy._ It's torture."

"Because he's as stuck up and spoiled as you?" She asked.

"No," He replied, "Because he _whines,_ Ginevra. I don't _whine."_

Ginny laughed. "Alright, Thomas," She said. "Can't argue with that."

* * *

Ginny's dreams have always been odd, ever since she could remember. 

Ginny sighed up at the ceiling, and turned over. Luna was on the mattress beside her bed. Harry would be up in Ron's room, and Riddle was in a guest room, along with Rian. (Hadrian, but. Nobody called him _that._ It'd be like calling Ron _Ronald._ Only the adults do. And only when they're angry or annoyed.)

The other guest rooms were taken up by various family members - or honorary family members. Some had brought tents and were camping out in the lap of luxury, because some of them were ritch, but Ginny didn't envy them of it.

But. Regardless - Ginny's dreams had always been... odd. Ever since she could remember.

"Are the nargles keeping you up?" Luna asked.

"No," Ginny sighed. "If only. Bad dreams," She explained. They weren't exactly _bad,_ not really - or at least, not that she could tell. But a lot of the time, she woke up - queasy, or wary, or worried, or scared, or angry.

Angry was the worst, she thought.

"Oh dear," Luna frowned at the ceiling, too. "That's _terrible._ Should I get mum? Your mum, my mum, - would any mum work? Or do you need Thomas', she's a mind healer. She might have something for nightmares."

Ginny laughed, lightly. "It's fine, Luna," She said. "Thank you for the offer, though."

Luna turned her head and smiled at her. "I hope you sleep better," She said. "Now that I made you laugh."

Ginny looked at the ceiling. "I think I will," She said, in much brighter spirits than before. "Thanks, Luna."

"Of course," Luna replied, as she closed her eyes. "You're my friend. I always help my friends."

* * *

"Our namesakes," Tom says, staring up at the sky, "Were good friends."

"Were they?" She asks him.

"Mhmm. Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle. She saved his life, you know."

"How?" She asks.

"She killed the woman who raped him." Tom twists the ring on his finger. It was summer, the sky was dark and full of stars. Ginny had visited him this year, instead of the other way around. Harry and Ron were - elsewhere; sixteen and restless, looking for something interesting to do instead of homework or just staring at the stars. They were in France, she thinks. With Hermione, since her family do the whole France trip thing a lot.

It'd make sense.

But, Ginny's fifteen. She's not to leave the country without her mum or her dad until next year. So, here she is. And she's happy with that.

"Oh," Ginny said, quietly.

"Yeah," Tom pulls the ring off. "This was Merope - the woman's - family's ring. The Gaunts."

"What happened to them?" Ginny asks.

"Ginny did." He smiled. "Avenging Angel. It's on our coat of arms."

"Oh," She repeats. "That's..."

"It was added," Tom looked back up at the sky. "The symbol was - weirdly simple. Swords crossed behind a sheild, with some surrounding decor, but the shield was blank. Almost like it was waiting for something like that."

"That's... kind of horrible." Ginny says. Tom laughs. "I know, right?" He says. "Fuck Merope Gaunt, and fuck her family. They're all dead, I think."

"Good," Ginny says, and there's a... not really so surprising amount of vehemence about it.

"Yeah," Tom nods. "Here," He says, and hands her the ring. "Ginny defeated them. It's only right you get their ring."

"Huh?" She frowns.

"Right of conquest," He says. "Old. Wizarding and Muggle tradition. You defeat, you get. Simple, really."

"Oh," Ginny echoes, for a third time. "Okay."

She puts the ring on.

* * *

 

 _Avenging Angel,_ Ginny thinks.

She's read this book many times over - the unfinished biography of one Ginevra Weasley. It's something, alright; spans from basically the start of the 20th century to - well, 1980.

One Ginny leaves, another is conceived. Weird. Coincidental.

Probably.

Ginny sighs. She brushes her hand down the last page. Half of its words are quill and ink, some are pen, and the rest are from typewriters.

"It's yours," Her 'auntie' Queenie had said, smiling. "It's yours, sugar. Yours to finish how you like."

Ginny doesn't know how. She's not - _Ginny Weasley._ She never killed a Dark Lord, never fought in a war or two. Never - she's never done anything  _close_ to what her namesake (accidental though that may be) had done in her lifetime. 

 _The Want of Gold To Stay._ Ginny rereads the title. It means something, she thinks. The previous Ginny was _Honey,_ to Queenie Goldstein. Was fire, was bright as anything. Burned as fast as a star - but died as slowly.

Amnesia. It's almost a cliche. Ginny's read the first chapter so many times she can recite it from memory - but she doesn't know... anyting, really. There are so many blank spots in the first few years of the book - what the other Ginny could remember of her youth, before the curse - and... Ginny's not sure it adds up.

But she's never been sure it doesn't, either. Still.

Ginny turns to the last page. She twirls her pencil around. At least having read this so much, Ginny knows how _Ginny_ wrote.

And Ginny can finish this story. She can finish it with her _own._

 _Ginny_ has a legacy. _Her_ name holds _**weight**. _Ginny Weasley; The Woman Who Won. 

Ginny can't overshadow that. But she can make her own path, and maybe one day people won't double-take at her name and think she's someone she's not.

* * *

Ginny his seventeen, and gets a letter from Gringotts. She rubs the ring Ginny won for Tom and Tom gave to Ginny (two different Ginnys, two different Toms), and opens it. 

Ginny blinks.

"Mum!" She yells. "I think the goblins made a mistake!" She shouts, because that's - _unheard_ of, but this can't be true.

She can't have a vault already. How could she?

* * *

It's true. Because she's _Ginny Weasley,_ apparently. 

Apparently _literally._ As in... there were never _two_ Ginnys. Just the one.

Just her. _Ginny killed a fucking Dark Lord._

She killed _Grindlewald._ If Ginny was a weaker person, made less of fire and steel, she'd have probably fainted. Instead, she sat up straighter.

"Alright," She said. "I want to see the vault."

* * *

_Ginny_  was fucking  **rich.**

And so... now also is Ginny.

"Fuck," Ginny says, staring at her gold. Harry and Ron and everyone blink at it rapidly.

"Ginevra," Molly reprimands.

"Bloody hell," Ron says, regardless.

"Can we merge this with the Weasley account?" Ginny asks.

( _Then,_ there's pandemonium.)

(It's _her_ money, and she's a _Weasley,_ but apparently it's 'charity'. Bah. Its _theirs,_ and no amount of blustering is going to change that.)

* * *

They're still _Weasleys._ Being richer just means the Burrow can be bigger and they can have a better farm and buy nicer things, but it doesn't change their ramshakle house or their nature, as people who aren't rich. 

Unlike the Potters, who give them tips and various other things, so people and the goblins and other elements don't take advantage. Harry's good with money, always has been, and he helps her sort out her own personal subsidiary account. He helps Ron, too, and Ron marvels over the whole thing.

Ginny shares a smile with Harry, who winks, and then mentions to Ron, quite casually, if he thinks he could keep up with Harry on a firebolt.

* * *

Tom shows up to her quidditch matches, always has done, which has always been surprsing because he's the first to say the sport is stupid and doesn't make any sense, and if anything the muggles do this sort of thing better, just ask his cousin. Or Dean Thomas, whoever you can get your hands on. 

Ginny files with the Hollyhead Harpies. Ron and Harry and Hermione and Luna and Neville and _everyone_ cheer in the crowd. Astoria dragged Malfoy here and he's enough of a quidditch fan to ignore that there's a _Weasley_ on the team he's cheering for.

Ginny scores a goal, and grins. That's another for the book.

* * *

Harry and Ron fuck off to the rest of the world looking for trouble for two years after Hogwarts - coming back for her matches with the harpies and holidays only - while Hermione works her way up the ministry, Luna looks around the world for magical animals with Rolph Scamander and Neville apprentices under Professor Sprout, planning to take her place when she retires, which will probably be soon.

And Ginny files. She's happy, and she's content. She's free. No burdens, no nothing, not like the responsibility that weighed down her... past-alternate self.

Not future. The future is not Ginny's past; _her_ future was Ginny's past. There's a difference.

* * *

The problem with Riddles, Ginny thinks, is they're very _complicated_ people - and no, the link there with their name and their nature isn't lost on her. 

"What do want in life, Tom Riddle?" She asks. They're drunk. Ron is passed out on the couch, Harry on the chair. Hermione went home, tutting the whole way, and Luna and Rolph have gone back to the rest of the world. Neville's back at Hogwarts, and all the other party guests are gone, too.

"To matter," He said, decidedly. "Like my dad."

"Thomas the fourth," She sighed dramatically, "Of _course_ you matter. Your dad did great things, yeah, did a lot of good for people's and creatures rights - but you can do good in other ways. You never liked politics. Too much schmoozing."

"I know," He said. "I want to teach."

"See, that makes sense." She said. "What?"

"Transfiguration, maybe." He said. "McGonagall is going to be headmistress, soon, since Dumbledore is stepping down to focus on other things - and there's going to be a spot open."

"Well then," Ginny grinned. "Good you were her best student."

Tom grinned at her. "Well then, Weasley. A toast."

"To the future, Riddle," Ginny grinned, and knocked back her firewhiskey.

* * *

"Hello," Ginny sighed. Tom, old and grey, leaned over and placed a hand on her arm. The rings he wore glittered in the light, and Ginny smiled.

"I've said it before," He said, "But thank you." Tom Riddle Jr. shook his head. "If it weren't for you..." He smiled. "Our avenging angel, I don't think our family would have gone past me."

Oh, it would. But nowhere good. Ginny smiled at him. "You're welcome," She said.

Tom patted her arm. "Not long now, is it?" He asked.

"!980," Ginny chuckled, then coughed, harshly. Tom frowned, and waited it out. Worried.

"Aww," She cooed. "You care."

"Obviously," He laughed. "Ginny Weasley - I hope you have a good life," He says.

"Don't you leave it," She warned. "Riddles and Weasleys. We're a team."

"Don't worry," He smiled, shaking his head. "Elizabeth's chatting with Molly about how best to raise a daughter as we speak."

"Good," She sighed, happily. "Vera? Tommy?"

"Galivanting around the country, wreaking havok and overhauling laws," He chuckled. "Settling down and having kids. Thomas the fourth, already." Tom shook his head. "Terrifying."

"You're the one who started the trend," She grinned. "Could have named your kid anything else - but no, you _narcisist._ " She laughed, and didn't cough.

He smiled, and laughed with her.

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
